


Intent

by afoxinsocks



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afoxinsocks/pseuds/afoxinsocks
Summary: Alternative conversation between Bixby and Morse in S3E1 'Ride'.





	Intent

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative conversation between Bixby and Morse in S3E1 'Ride'.

“That’s twice I’ve heard that name tonight. The first person to ask was a policeman.”

“So’s the second.”

It’s the suddenness of the truth that strikes Morse, the certainty that forces it to surface. Despite everything, or, more likely, because of it, he _is_ a policeman. It's who is, what he is, who and what he’ll always be. That's the long and the short of it. It’s inconceivable now, in that moment, the idea that he could be anything else. Or at least be anything he could succeed at, after so many previous incarnations of himself have faded away. An unwanted son, an unsuccessful student, a failed fiancé. They’re all with him, his ghosts, but they’re no longer what he is. He’ll be a policeman until he dies, the ideal immediately resolute, a promise unto himself. Forsaking all others.

“Ah.”

It’s not something Morse will apologise for - a lie by omission but a necessary one - and he’s relieved to find no animosity in Bixby’s calm, balanced gaze. Bixby's drawing him in. Of that he's well aware. And now he’s being reassessed, reclassified, that much is clear but he’s not, seemingly, being found wanting. At least not yet.

“You don’t look like a policeman.”

“What do I look like?”

_A teacher, maybe? At one of the colleges?_

“Like what you are, old man. Beautiful.”

Morse hears as well as feels the air cough out from his lungs, eyebrows high with incredulity before he gathers himself enough to deflect the volley. There's veiled flirting and then there's displaying open intent towards a man just revealed as a police officer. It takes guts, he thinks, swirling the contents of his glass. Would he ever be so direct? With so much to lose? Though for all Bixby's money he's just as alone as Morse is. And they're alone together.

_Any woman in the world._

And any man?

“It’s not a word often use to describe men.”

“That’s true. Not by women at least. By men, maybe?”

It's an invitation or an escape. Or perhaps it's both. Kay seemingly long forgotten and Morse a new opportunity. The temptation to close himself off, to shield himself from such a personal line of questioning, and its implications, sets his pulse thrumming.  His face begins to flush, spreading down along his neck, back across to his ears, memories awakening. The past ever present, rushing into the future. Warm hands in his sweat curled hair, stroking down his spine. A deep rumble of a voice in his ear, urging him on. Soft words not meant for waking ears. They're not for sharing. They never will be. Sometimes it's hard to believe they happened at all.

With a shake of his head he collects himself.

“Maybe once, perhaps. Yes.”

“That's a shame, old man. Come on. I need to clear my head.”

~


End file.
